


Semper Fidelis

by AlynnaStrong



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Crossdressing, F/M, Gender Roles, M/M, Military Academy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-30
Updated: 2017-12-28
Packaged: 2019-02-08 20:24:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12872325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlynnaStrong/pseuds/AlynnaStrong
Summary: Brienne attends the all-male Westeros Military Academy as Brien Tarth.  She thought she'd prepared for everything, but after drawing the attention and competitive streak of a certain green-eyed classmate, she discovers a new set of complications.





	1. Muster

**Author's Note:**

> 1) In 1996, _US v. Virginia_ forbade male-only admissions in state sponsored schools as a violation of the equal protection clause of the constitution. National service academies admitted women in 1976. I’m going to average these dates and set this story in Modern Westeros, with a tech level of about 1985. That’s modern enough to feel familiar but before the internet made it possible to look up your favorite classmate’s high school photos.
> 
> 2) To be clear, Brienne is not transgendered in this story. She thinks of herself as a woman but is attempting to pass as a man. Therefore, I’ll use feminine pronouns when narrating about her, but the characters will use masculine when referring to ‘Brien’. 
> 
> 3) The cadets are incoming college freshmen, so they’re all about 18 years old. 
> 
> 4) Semper Fidelis means Always Faithful. It’s the motto of the US Marine Corp. That doesn’t have much to do with anything, but it’s perfect for Brienne.

The stethoscope rested lightly on Brienne’s bare chest.

“Breathe deeply,” Dr. Qyburn said. He listened at several spots before declaring her heart and lungs up to the task.

“You pass muster. You’ve had all your vaccinations. Your vitals are good. More importantly, your heart rate is nice and steady while a man stares at your bare chest. You’ve been preparing yourself?”

“Yes. We have a lot of privacy on the island, so I’ve had some time to get used to running around shirtless. I’d also already shaved my hair before I arrived.” He didn’t need to know that she’d cried. Her hair had been stringy, shapeless, and full of split ends, but it had been one of the few attributes that distinctly coded her as female. Without it, the square shape of her head, thick neck, and broad shoulders got her mistaken for a man every time. That was the point, of course. Still, the short bristles felt all wrong.

“Your blood work will look fine so long as I add just a drop of this.” He drew a syringe full of liquid from a small vial and let the tiniest drop mix into the blood he’d drawn from her earlier. “Your muscle tone is wonderful. Breast development slight. You’re fairly round in the hips but I don’t think it’s striking so long as you maintain proper posture. I can give you estrogen blockers so you won’t menstruate. A little testosterone will bring out some more body hair. The others may notice if you don’t shave.” He indicated the loaded syringe.

“I’ll take the estrogen blockers, but no testosterone. If I get caught, I don’t want to have used any banned substances. Besides, if I’ve taken a bunch of testosterone, I’m not really proving anything, am I?”

“I suppose not. I think you’ll have no trouble with the physical aspects of the training. Keeping your secret in the showers and dorm rooms will probably be your biggest challenge. You’re so fair skinned I think you can justify leaving your shirt on outside as sun protection, long enough for your breast tissue to melt away under the estrogen blockers at least. Do you think you’ll be able to banish womanly thoughts from your mind?”

“I’ve done everything from practice bootcamps to slaughtering piglets at a swine farm. I assure you, I can handle my emotions.” Brienne took a careful grip on her temper, trying not to grumble at the unfairness. Men had feelings, too.

“Oh I didn’t mean to sound sexist, dear. Just don’t get carried away when you’re around a group of handsome, red-blooded, young men. They may not be the smartest of the bunch here,” (Qyburn didn’t seem to notice or care that he was also referring to the person sitting in front of him) “but they’d know a vagina if they saw one. Best not let anyone get his hand down your pants. I’d stuff a sock in there as well. Some of them will be looking, I promise you.”

“I’m not here to… party. I’ll be a commissioned leader of character, like it says in the school’s charter. (‘Our mission is to educate, train, and inspire the corp of cadets so that each graduate is a commissioned leader of character committed to the values of duty, honor, and service to the realm,’ she recited in her head. It always steadied her.)

“Good. Now, if you ever need to see a doctor, even if it’s just for an ingrown toenail, request me specifically. Tell them you don’t mind waiting. Someone else might give you medicine that interacts badly with the things that aren’t in your file.”

“I will. Thank you. My father told me you would help, but I never asked him…why are you taking such a risk for me? Won’t they fire you if I’m found out?” She’d been surprised enough that her father, who held honesty and honor in highest esteem, had agreed to assist her in this scheme. He’d gone above and beyond, modifying her high school records to reflect a male student named Brien as well as finding this doctor, an insider working at the Westeros Military Academy. When she’d haltingly asked him why, he rumbled ‘you deserve it’ and changed the subject. Fairness was also a hallmark of House Tarth.

“Why, it’s not for you my dear, nor your father, though I was happy to let him call in his favor. No. It’s for science,” Qyburn said. And if he got fired for experimentation on students, well, it wouldn’t be the first time. Thank goodness for wartime seals on military records.  
  


The formation of five hundred first year cadets stood at attention in the Academy’s large muster grounds. They were arranged alphabetically, but some standouts were obvious to their future instructors. The head of the school, Commandant Stark, had been bursting with pride to see his oldest join the long black line. Robb was handsome and popular, wanting nothing more than to prove himself his own man. Deputy Chiefs Bolton and Tarly also each had a son this year. Bolton’s was baseborn but looked ready to earn his name. Tarly’s stood out by girth rather than height.

Of the rest of the noble youth, the instructors concluded Lannister was likely to be the most formidable. He already had a national reputation as an athlete, and his family could help him in any way he needed. The youngest Baratheon looked dashing in his uniform but displayed a lack of seriousness (though compared to his middle brother Stannis, that was a relief). The youngest Greyjoy clearly needed more discipline. Tarth’s tow-headed frame stood a few inches above the rest, but he was unknown nationally. Tyrell had reluctantly allowed his son to enroll, fearing another accident like the one that crippled his eldest. Rumor had it that the boy refused to apply anywhere else, reflecting an unusual dedication one would think his father would admire.

Rounding out the exceptional enlistees was the red-headed commoner, Wild, who’d come highly recommended from the Northern territories, and the Esson student, Grey, who’d been in military training since childhood. A promising class, all in all.  
  


After a day of welcoming banquets and frantic unpacking, the cadets arrived for their first day of classes. Most had the same basic set: composition, math, chemistry, history, and military leadership. Brienne didn’t think the syllabi looked too daunting. She’d been at the top of her class in high school, but she knew that was mainly due to being the lord’s daughter at a small school. No one on Tarth had been particularly academically gifted, and her father employed a tutor to explain anything she didn’t understand. She figured she could keep up at WMA, but didn’t expect to be valedictorian here.

An early guess for academic leader would be Samwell Tarly. He had a bright mind and asked interesting questions, though he was plainly going to struggle in physical training. Grey, a serious and quiet man with an intriguing Esson accent, could also be a contender. He never asked chatty questions of the instructors like Tarly, but always had the answer when called upon.

In addition to academic classes, cadets also needed to train in certain combat disciplines and compete in a sport. Brienne had been more nervous about pitting her physical skills against men in top condition than her academic work. She'd managed to defeat all the boys on Tarth, but that was a much smaller talent pool than WMA. The first Combatives session went very well for her, though. They’d learned about disarming techniques and quick take downs, then broken into smaller groups. She had the best reach of anyone in her circle and remained the last standing.

On the way to the locker room, Theon Greyjoy pounded her thick shoulders.

“You remind me of my sister,” Greyjoy said.

Brienne went into alert. “Yeah?”

“She kicks at my nuts, too, every time we fight. Didn’t think you were so ruthless, Tarth.”

“It’s not ruthless to attack an area your opponent’s not defending, and no part is off limits in Combatives. I can’t believe you haven’t had it pounded through your skull yet that the groin is a weak point.”

They reached the lockers, and Brienne reminded herself to smoothly strip off her sweaty shirt and put on a clean one. _Don’t turn your back; just do it._

“Oi! It’s not so weak. Have a look.” Theon pulled down his shorts, revealing a head-turning length of uncircumcised penis. (Once she’d seen a few others, Brienne would come to understand Theon’s boldness about revealing it. At the moment, she was shocked speechless and wondered if she needed a bigger sock). “Come on, big fellow, what are you packing? Bet it’s a case of giant hands, tiny dick.”

Fortunately for Brienne, a hand darted into her field of vision and wrapped itself around Theon’s member. It pulled sharply upward in a way even Brienne could tell would be uncomfortable.

“I told you, Greyjoy. That’s not for public display. Do I need to to rip it off and store it somewhere safe for you?”

“No Ramsay, sir.” Theon gulped.

“What’s my name?”

“Sir, Bolton, sir.”

“Good boy,” Ramsay said, patting Theon on the balls and fixing Brienne with the coldest stare she’d ever seen on a human face. Ramsay was supposedly the son of Deputy Chief Bolton, a high ranking administrator of the school. Rumor had it that he had been born out of wedlock and had a different last name until enrolled here. Somehow he’d convinced the registrar to rename him.

Brienne didn’t like seeing her classmate bullied, and she could certainly pound this Bolton into a paste. However, she noticed that Theon didn’t seem to mind. In fact, no one paying any attention could miss how stimulating he’d found the encounter. She wasn’t going to pick a fight with Bolton if Greyjoy didn’t put up any resistance himself. They were all equal ranks, even, so if he was calling him ‘sir,’ that must be their private arrangement. She’d best stay out of it.

“You going to get dressed, Hairless, or do you want to suck him off? I might allow it if you do me next. Why are you so hairless anyway? Is there something wrong with you?” Bolton examined Brienne with his unnerving gaze.

Brienne realized she’d been standing there half-undressed for…well, ever since Theon unveiled his penis. She swallowed, trying not to give ground to Bolton. “Not interested,” she said, finally pulling a fresh shirt over her head.

“I asked you a question,” Bolton began.

Theon pulled off his shirt and nudged Bolton. His own chest was also clear of hair. “That’s Tarth,” he said, “Island boy like me. A swimmer. Is that right, Tarth? Your swim coach make you shave all over?”

“Yes, that’s right,” Brienne said, tucking that excuse away for later use.

“Yeah. Sounds stupid but it really does help. Are you going to try out for the swim team here?”

“Uh, maybe. I was thinking crew.”

“Oh aye, that’d make sense, too. See you in the water either way!” Greyjoy dressed quickly and jogged off with Bolton following closely behind. Brienne could see the territorial glare in his eyes as he left.  
  


“Match to Tarth! 2-1,” the fencing instructor declared. Jaime felt like throwing down his sword, but didn’t want to get a reputation as a spoiled jackass. Not too soon, anyway. The big country boy hadn’t looked like a threat, but Jaime wouldn't excuse himself by saying he’d taken him too lightly. Perhaps in their first bout…but by the second he’d know he had skills. Jaime had won that one narrowly, then Tarth had beaten him again. All of the bouts had been close, reflecting a great deal of not just natural talent, but concentrated training with a blade. Jaime thought he knew all the best fencers in the kingdoms. Apparently the Tarth program had not traveled to many inter-mural competitions.

_I beat Jaime Lannister! He’s one of the top fencers in the realm! Or so they say…perhaps his name gets him more praise than he deserves._ Brienne’s head buzzed after class. She honestly couldn’t have thought of anything to give her more confidence for the year ahead. If she could beat Jaime Lannister at fencing, she could do anything.

“Nice match. How’d you learn to fight like that?” Jaime asked.

Brienne turned, surprised to see that Lannister had chased her down after class. He didn’t look upset at all. If anything, he seemed pleased to have found someone else who took fencing seriously. “Oh, um, thank you. I’ve always loved sword. I think it reflects a beautiful old-era elegance that’s missing in our modern world.” Brienne cringed at the words coming out of her mouth. They didn’t really sound like something a man would say. She’d have to been more vigilant…it’s just that Lannister’s dancing eyes and good-humored smile occupied too much of her mind. Why’d he have to be so handsome? It was hard to think straight now that his mask was off.

They sat next to each other at lunch. Jaime talked easily about his life and, after a few edits, so did Brienne.

“I wasn’t sure I was going to stick with fencing here,” he said. “No one seemed good enough to give me a challenge, then all of a sudden I’m defeated by this behemoth from Tarth. How’d you get so good?”

“Like I said, I enjoy swordplay. I didn’t have to work that hard in high school, and we didn’t travel a lot, so I had plenty of time to train. I’m sure my lord father considered it a weird hobby, but he’s always been pretty indulgent.” _To put it mildly_ _._ “I think of it as an art, though. There’s a beauty to it, kind of like a dance.” _You’re doing it again. Will you for the love of the gods shut up?_

“You know, I don’t think I would have put it that way, but I agree. It’s strangely intimate. Of course, my father always said it wasn’t worth doing without full commitment. He entered me in every tournament he could find. I had to excel, or he would have made me stop. His opinion is, if I’m not the best at something, obviously I’m not putting in enough effort.”

“Sounds hard. Got you here though. Number two in the fencing elective.”

“Oh!” he exclaimed, clearly surprised and pleased at being challenged. Brienne hoped he wasn’t going to whip his dick out at the lunch table. They didn’t all do that, did they? “So be honest now, do you think you could take the instructor?” he asked.

“I don’t know. We didn’t really see enough-”

“Come on. That sloppy defensive stance! Professor Blount is no Barristan Selmy. I think you could take him with your off hand.” Before Brienne could think he was flattering her, Lannister continued, “I know I could.”

Her lips curled into a smile. _Oh gods, he’s funny. No one ever said Jaime Lannister was funny._ “So have you made any plans for your major?” she asked.

“I have. I’m going for military science. I plan to make a career of service to the realm.”

“That’s my plan as well. Exactly.” Brienne sized Lannister up again. Who could have guessed they’d have such similar ideals? “I’m surprised though; I thought all Lannisters went into business.”

“Not this Lannister. And for once, if Father doesn’t like it, he can lump it.” Jaime held Brien’s gaze to show his sincerity. “I figured you for oceanography or marine biology. Guess I shouldn’t stereotype you, huh?”

“I would really appreciate that.”

 

There was something about Brien Tarth. Jaime had never met anyone else he’d so instantly clicked with. Which was strange because at a glance, they seemed to have almost nothing in common. Brien was an only child from a minor noble household. He’d been raised on a lightly populated island and had not traveled much. Jaime, on the other hand, had what could conservatively be called a close relationship with his sister, enough nobility to drown in, and had seen the realm from top to bottom and side to side. Past the surface matters, though, they agreed on the issues that cut right to Jaime’s core. Jaime found himself hoping that they'd serve the realm side by side for a long time, true brothers in arms.

All Brienne could say was, thank the gods that cadets from noble houses were given their own rooms. Commoners lived two or three to a room, but nobles were allowed the privilege of privacy. Usually, Brienne didn’t like to rely on advantages from her rank, but in this instance she’d not made a fuss. She could keep her secret much more easily if she had a safe place to relax and let down her guard. At present, she needed a particular form of relief. No matter how much she pleasured herself, though, Jaime’s green eyes still danced in her memory whenever she closed her eyes. Dr. Qyburn might have had the slightest of points, she thought, though he should have called it ‘overwhelming lust’ rather than ‘womanly feelings.’

 


	2. Honor Code

As the new cadets settled into their routines, some dynamics became obvious. Stark and Bolton would always take opposite sides in any debate, sometimes purely out of spite. Renly Baratheon had no intention of following his brother’s path of striving for class rank; he’d rather spend every waking moment with friends, especially Tyrell. Greyjoy needed some work on his leadership skills. He had a tendency to develop grandiose plans before ensuring he had the resources to back them up.

The first set of exams mostly followed the expected pattern. Noble youths outscored commoners by a wide margin overall. The Esson, Grey, who didn’t really count as common in the administration’s view, was the main outlier there. Also, generally speaking, the higher the house, the higher the scores. The administrators – all nobles – seemed to feel this reflected a proper sorting of ability rather than preexisting advantages. There were a few surprises, however. Tarly outscored the son of his father’s liege lord, Tyrell, giving the elder Tarly a rare moment of pride for his son. Tarth also outscored Baratheon, proving himself stronger academically than one might think from his muscle-bound appearance. His friend Lannister, on the other hand, did not do the family proud in his efforts.

Tarth and Lannister’s close friendship had begun to strike their classmates as odd. Tarth was sometimes painfully shy, plainly fighting through nerves as he stood to give oral presentations. Lannister was the opposite, overly brash and prone to blurting out insults and taunts, often to Tarth himself. None of it bothered Tarth who seemed to find Lannister more hilarious than exasperating (a minority opinion). They enjoyed each other’s company to the degree that rumors started to fly after a while. Tyrell, the self-proclaimed gaydar expert examined the situation and proclaimed that while he was unsure about Tarth (a surprise in itself), Lannister was straight as a rifle stock. Unless Tarth developed better persuasive skills, it was doomed to stay a bromance.

Jaime took the talk about them in good fun, happy to banter about any insinuations, but he couldn’t help noticing that it embarrassed Brien. Whenever Tyrell would tease them, even mildly, like ‘you two need to take your hot chemical bonding talk to a private room,’ Brien would look away and blush. Jaime thought he knew what was behind that reaction, but if Brien wasn’t ready to be open about it yet, he would wait. ‘No Proclamation, No Inquisition’ was the official military policy on homosexuality. Knowing Brien, he would follow the letter of the law and never even tell his friends. Jaime resolved to mind his tongue on the subject so that Brien would feel safe to come out to him if he was ever ready. He could hardly criticize; gods knew Jaime had far more scandalous sexual indiscretions he had no intention of revealing.

 

Every month, Brienne needed to see Dr. Qyburn for a shot of estrogen inhibitors. For her part of the bargain, she consented to be examined for Qyburn’s study. He treated her dispassionately, conducting a brisk physical exam that measured her weight, height, and vitals before giving her the shot.

“You seem to be in peak health, dear. How is school going?”

“Very well. I’m in the top tier in all three measures: academics, military, and physical. I can’t say I expected that.”

“You’re quite motivated. Have you noticed any side effects from the medication?”

“Not really. I had trouble sleeping at first, but last month was exciting in general with the start of classes, so that may have been it.”

“How about emotional effects? Do you feel any different?”

“I think maybe I’m a little more interested in sex than I used to be,” Brienne replied with no small amount of embarrassment. She’d promised to answer Qyburn’s questions honestly, though, and there was really no denying it. She couldn’t be sure if it was hormonal or just that men were finally paying attention to her and treating her as an equal.

“More? Hmm, that’s not what I would have expected. Good that you refused the testosterone, then; probably would have made it worse.”

“I’m having no trouble…controlling myself. But it is something I’ve noticed.”

“Good. Stay vigilant then. Sounds like you’re doing brilliantly.” Qyburn made a few businesslike notes in her chart and sent her on her way.

Theon Greyjoy sat in the waiting room, impatiently tapping his foot on the linoleum floor.

“All right, Tarth?” he asked.

“Yeah, I just take, uh, allergy shots. How about you?”

“Eh, dislocated a finger. We’ve got those subdual drills tomorrow, so I wanted to grab a split to give it some protection.”

“How’d you manage to do that?”

“You know, just messing about.” From the way he ground his teeth, Brienne could tell he was keeping a secret. After observing him and Bolton for the past month, she had a good idea of what it was.

Brienne lightly prodded his shoulder as she passed by. “You’re a goof, Greyjoy. But, island boys stick together.” She caught his eye and put more emphasis into her words. “Just say the word. You have a lot of friends here.”

Theon nodded and looked away. The Don’t Scream game had gotten a little out of hand this time, and he was actually pretty sure his finger was broken, but Bolton hadn’t meant to do it.

 

Tarly stared jealously at Grey’s dinner. All the cadets ate together, family style, but Grey had been given dispensation for seconds since he was underweight (by Westerosi standards; he was ideal under Esson, he claimed). Tarly, on the other hand, had been marked ‘reduced rations’ since day one. Sometimes he ate his meager meal automatically then looked in dismay at his empty plate once he paid attention. The school’s simple honor code prevented him from sneaking more food. ‘A cadet will not lie, cheat, steal, or tolerate those who do.’ Not only would he break the code by stealing, but anyone watching would be honor-bound to report him.

To distract himself, Tarly said, “So, do you fellows remember that research project Stark and I had on reconstruction after the third dragonwar? It turns out, our library didn’t have all the books we needed, so I went into town. I met a lady there who likes a man in uniform. Long story short, I have a date for the Winter Gala.”

Tarly received hearty congratulations from around the table. Most cadets hated his draconian father, but found Samwell Tarly to be one of the most genial and helpful among their number. All the noble cadets had thought at least once that he wasn’t cut out for the Westeros Military Academy, though few wanted to admit it out loud.

The conversation turned toward girlfriends left back home or girls from the neighboring area who were the subject of cadets’ affections. Brienne hadn’t had any romantic experience in high school and didn’t want to get pulled into the discussion. Right around the time she decided to quietly leave the table, the jokes started to fly about Lannister. He’d traveled to all the kingdoms (plus the Riverlands) for tournaments, so they speculated about whether he had ‘made the eight,’ that is, had sex with a maid in every kingdom. She gathered her things and left, following Baratheon who had also grown tired of the subject.

“Aw, you hurt Tarth’s feelings,” she heard Bolton taunt. She didn’t have a reply, because it was kind of true. She’d have to watch that.

“Don’t let them get to you,” Renly said when they were out of the dining hall. “They’re little shits, mostly. A few of them may have rutted with someone, but they’ve never known real love. It’s obvious when it’s real, like a thunderbolt out of a clear, blue sky. You will find the person who’s right for you, who you fit with like two pieces of one whole.”

“How do you know?” she muttered. It was funny, with Renly she could allow herself vulnerability. Maybe because he thought they shared the same struggle.

“Ha! I’m the grandson of the king. Do you think I ever had trouble finding someone to shag? Making the eight? I've done the sixteen, if you catch my meaning. One steady gaze across a dining table in Highgarden changed all that. Ka-zap! That was it.”

“You have considerably more advantages than me, though. I mean, I know – Lannister – there’s nothing but friendship there. I just wish I believed there was someone who’d, you know, want to be with me. Sometime.”

“Oh, don’t sell yourself short. You’ll be a lord in your own right someday, with a nice piece of real estate. Besides that, you might be the kindest person I know. You’re a little over-freckled, but not that bad looking. Lots of…people like a strong, Andal figure. In short, I don’t think this world is so cruel that you end up alone. It’s worth being patient to find the right one. I promise.”

“Thank you, Renly. May I kiss you on the cheek?” They were between buildings, well out of sight.

He nodded with an indulgent smile, and she quickly bussed his cheek. In close, she whispered, “You do know how to make a girl feel better,” trusting he would take that as her confiding a different secret than the truth.

He barked a laugh. “Go on, then. Study or something, so I don’t resent your class rank, bannerman.”

 

Brienne decided to drop in on Jaime, because it can be hard to resist poking a sore spot sometimes. He hadn’t been at dinner which was almost unheard of barring illness. She had the further excuse that they had a History midterm tomorrow. Perhaps he’d like to study together.

Jaime seemed a little nervous when he let her into his room, but that could be explained by too much caffeine on an empty stomach. He’s probably pushing himself to bring his grades up from his under-performance in the first round of exams, Brienne thought.

“I was wondering if you wanted to quiz each other for the test tomorrow. I’ve got good notes. I’d get us some coffee but you look like you’ve had enough already. Did you completely skip dinner?”

“Yes, I had to talk to my brother on the phone. Just family stuff; nothing important. But, um, I feel like I’m squared away for the test. I was going to review the reading, then get a good night’s sleep.”

Something wasn’t adding up with Jaime’s behavior. She knew him well enough by now to see that he was on edge and didn’t really want her there. With anyone else, she’d slink away, but she knew she had done nothing wrong.

“Really? So how many troops did Aegon I take into Dorne?”

“20,000?”

“No, that’s how many the Dornish had. List three reasons to explain why Dorne never yielded.”

“Listen, I-”

“What’s going on, Lannister? You’ve been acting squirrelly since I arrived.” Thinking back to dinner, she cast her eyes toward his bed. If he’d snuck a woman in here somehow, that’d just put the perfect cap on today. His room was empty of anyone else, though, if a little messier than usual.

“Nothing’s going on other than my brother talked my ear off through dinner. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to see if I can cadge some leftovers from the kitchen.”

He made to leave, but he couldn’t look her in the eye. Casting about for a clue, Brienne picked up a uniform shirt carelessly thrown across Jaime’s desk. Underneath, were some papers covered with random strings of letters. In less than a second, she realized they were all A-E and knew what they must be.

Brienne took moment to compose herself. “Your brother bribed someone for the answers to tomorrow’s midterm,” she stated simply and unambiguously.

Jaime wouldn’t insult Tarth’s intelligence by denying it, so he said nothing.

“‘A cadet will not lie, cheat, steal, or tolerate those who do.’ It’s a simple code and there’s not a lot of room for debate. If you go through with it, and I don’t turn you in, then I’m equally guilty. I’ll not have that on my honor, Jaime.”

In desperation, Jaime demanded, “What’s your price? Everybody has one. Money? Prestige? I can have my father pull some strings and get you any posting you want after graduation. He’ll be less inclined toward you if you get his eldest son kicked out of school.” About that, Jaime wasn’t sure. Tywin had only grudgingly accepted Jaime attending WMA even though it was his own alma mater. Brien might end up with more of Tywin’s appreciation if he turned him in than otherwise.

Brien’s look of heart-broken disappointment burst Jaime out of his rant. “I’m sorry, Jaime. I can’t let it go. If you don’t rip up those sheets in front of me, I’ll see the Deputy Chief about it tomorrow.”

“You don’t understand!”

“Good bye, Jaime.” Brien’s voice sounded so high and squeaky Jaime thought he might be starting to cry.

“I can’t do it, Brien. I can’t keep up.” Jaime grabbed onto one of Brien’s meaty biceps. He turned, and sure enough, tears swam in his eyes, magnifying his already enormous, blue orbs. Jaime took a breath, to center himself. “There’s something wrong with me, with the way my brain works. I can’t see the letters properly. There’s too much reading! I can’t do it. I…can’t. I’m going to fail.” Jaime felt himself start to tear up as well. The shame made him want to vomit, but there was some relief in knowing it was finally over.

“All you had to do was swallow your pride and ask for help. I will not let you fail. Rip up those pages, and we’ll study together. All night if necessary. I have good notes, an outline; I can make us flashcards. We won’t have to muddle through your chicken scratch.”

“We have Combatives tomorrow, first thing after breakfast, then straight to the test. No, wait, you have crew practice before any of that. You’ll be exhausted.”

“It won’t be the last time. All part of the life of a military man.” Brienne’s head spun with relief. Jaime had listened to reason, and she would see him through this no matter what.

Jaime ripped the crib sheets into pieces so tiny that he couldn’t possibly get desperate enough to try to reassemble them. Then, they got to work.

 

After having success with the History midterm, Brienne and Jaime resolved to study together as a regular, nightly practice. This hit a snag at the next Chemistry exam. While both were avid students of history, neither had been so impressive in the sciences. Brienne sought help from Tarly, who was definitely the classes’ best chemist. Tarly brought along Wild. He’d been catching Wild up on academics while Wild helped him get in shape. He hadn’t made a show of it, but Tarly had gone down two pants sizes already.

With four, they didn’t have enough space to study comfortably in a dorm room, so they had to take to a lounge. This encouraged others to drop in, and soon there was a large group of occasional members surrounding the constant core. Sometimes it was more fun than work, but Jaime’s grades steadily improved as did Brienne’s confidence. Tarly claimed that he benefited as well since teaching strengthens understanding. And Wild! The commoner needed a lot of academic help, but he put in a tireless amount of effort. In fact, his hard work fueled Jaime’s competitive streak and probably drove Jaime’s improvement as much as Tarly’s tutelage. Wild also revealed a surprising sweet side. He was always the first to volunteer for coffee runs and often showed up with snacks for the group. If only he could learn to chew with his mouth closed.

 

“Lad, kin I speak wit’ ye aboot sometun?” Tormund’s thick northern accent made it sound like his voice came from somewhere in the back of his throat.

Loras looked around trying to convince himself the huge commoner wasn’t addressing him. Seeing no alternative, he replied, “How may I be of service?”

“Well, I know how you and that Baratheon fellow are, and I’ve heard you maybe have a private club. I think I might be wantin’ to join.”

“You? To join the Rainbow Warriors?” Either this was a joke or Loras’ gaydar needed emergency repair.

“It’s jus’ recently I’ve been spending a lot of time with someone. I’ve found meself…listen, can you like both? Pussy and cock? Is that allowed?” He seemed so confused, Loras felt a twinge of sympathy. They were a little backward in the far North.

“Yes, that’s not uncommon. But, you know, Tormund, maybe you’re just lonely. You’re used to being around a lot of women, right? Then you come here and it’s all men. You wouldn’t be the first who transferred some affection to a classmate, especially if he’s rather smaller than you or-”

“Not me. I want to get up inside one o’ the biggest fellows here. I don’t know how to go aboot it, though. Do I bring him presents like he was a lass or jus’ make a grab for it, or what?”

“No! Don’t just- all right, maybe you’d better come to our meetings. They’re for advocacy, not dating advice…but you’re going to end up before an assault tribunal if we don’t have a talk.”

 


	3. Winter Gala

_Crap crap crap crap crap._ Brienne had forgotten about the Winter Gala. Or, more accurately, she’d willfully ignored it. She skipped high school prom after the…incident with those cruel boys competing to be her date. That had been all the more humiliating because she’d allowed herself to become swept up in it. She’d felt flattered and grateful for all the attention until it came crashing down; the wager for her virginity revealed. Since then, she ignored every social event she could and closed herself off from childish dreams of romance.

This dance, however, was apparently a big fucking deal. No one skipped it. Even injured cadets were expected to muscle though. How were they supposed to find dates anyway? It was an all-male school, and they were kept frantically busy. She glumly broached the subject to some of her friends during lunch.

“I’ve not met anyone around here,” Brienne said. “Every woman I know lives on a island a thousand miles away. How did you guys do it?”

Most of his classmates liked Tarth. He was big and strong, a reliable helper on any team. He never grubbed for credit or showboated, like his inexplicable best friend, Lannister. However, he had terrible luck with the ladies. There never seemed to be any chemistry, even at easy setups like sporting events or concerts. Several of his friends had privately come to the conclusion that Tarth may be gay, whether or not he knew it himself yet.

“I got on with a nurse I met in the hospital,” Stark replied. Leave it to him to turn appendicitis into a lucky break.

“The girls are all over me after swim meets. Can’t imagine why,” Greyjoy said. He brought his hands down to highlight his package in case the reference to his tight swim trunks had been too subtle. In truth, Bolton had found dates for both of them and said the foursome would leave the dance as soon as possible for a ‘surprise.’ Theon shuddered to think about it.

“I’m taking Renly’s cousin, and he’s taking my sister,” Loras mentioned. Neither of their fathers approved of their all-but-public relationship, but they were willing to turn a blind eye and chalk quite a bit up to experimentation so long as the young men upheld traditions like the dance.

“Lannister is taking his twin sister,” Tarly remarked. Sam’s relationship with his librarian was going well, and having gotten his own date while Lannister had not, filled him with an almost vicious pride.

“His father’s making him. She insisted on seeing what all the fuss was about,” Brienne said, defending her friend. Jaime had confided that Cersei actually tried to apply here, but their father had found out and became ‘beyond furious, into quiet when he’s really scary.’ Brienne felt a strange blend of pity and guilt at that.

“I have a sister,” Stark offered. “She’s sixteen,” he noted, trusting Tarth to catch the subtext of ‘underage’. Sansa desperately wanted to come to the dance, but Robb had been hesitant to trust any of his classmates with his young, impressionable sister. Brien just might work. Sure, he wasn’t very handsome, but he was a college man, well-spoken, and extremely unlikely to get handsy.

“Me too,” said Greyjoy. “And she’ll put out.”

Tarth blushed so cherry red that most of the group now assumed not only that was he gay, but also a virgin. When he chose Sansa Stark over Yara Greyjoy, they knew it.

 

Robb and Brien met Sansa at the train station near campus. Robb couldn’t believe how much his little sister had grown in six months. (He didn’t realize she’d thought ahead and worn heels to better match up with her date). She still wasn’t anywhere near as tall as Brien, but at least the two of them dancing together wouldn’t seem as comical as if he’d set his friend up with Arya. Not that Arya could be dragged to a dance by anything less than a pack of direwolves.

Brien bowed when he met her, overly formal and plainly nervous. Sansa knew well how to handle awkward suitors, however. As Lord Stark’s eldest daughter, and a beautiful young woman – there was no shame in acknowledging it – she had nearly every boy in school chasing after her. She’d learned how to put them at ease. Robb’s description of Brien as tall, shy, and kind seemed on the mark. Honestly, she liked men of few words the best. She hated braggarts, and when the quiet ones spoke, they usually had something significant to say.

“Robb tells me you’re the school’s best fencer,” Sansa said.

“Oh. I suppose, but I think of it more as an art than a competition. The goal is to better oneself, not defeat others. Other than at tournaments, of course.”

“That’s an odd way to think about something that used to be life or death.”

“Yes, I guess that’s true,” Brien said, blushing a little.

“I like it. It’s nice to see an idealistic outlook in someone striving for a career in the military.” Sansa threaded her arm into her date’s; she liked him, she decided. Robb was left carrying her cumbersome garment bag, hoping against hope that he hadn’t misjudged Brien. If this turned out badly, he’d never hear the end of it from his father, and his mother might actually kill him.

 

The grand ballroom had been transformed into an ice palace, with sparkling tinsel and delicate white lights creating a festive atmosphere. There were even real ice sculptures of the various mascots of major houses. Walking into the gala with Sansa Stark on her arm put a spring in Brienne’s step. She reprimanded herself for being stupid, but she couldn’t help the bizarre feeling of pride. _Way to strike a blow for feminism with your arm candy._ Sansa was probably the most beautiful woman here with her glowing auburn hair and shimmery, cornflower blue satin gown. The style of the gown featured more bosom that Brienne had anticipated, especially considering Commandant Stark would be here. She’d have to make sure he saw nothing but the utmost respect concerning his daughter.

Sansa proved almost infuriatingly charming. She’d clearly mastered all those social niceties that kept bouncing off Brienne. She was a fine dancer too, though Brienne could match her there. It helped that leading was easier. She’d always had an intuitive grace on her feet, and these steps were quite simple.

All went well until Brienne spotted Lannister dancing with his sister. She would be competition for Sansa in beauty, and she and her partner were unquestionably the best dancers on the floor. Their twin-hood connection apparently synchronized them in a way no one else could match. It was a bit creepy, to be honest.

After a little while, couples began to switch partners. Brienne only once accidentally tried to take the man’s hand instead of the woman’s. It was just Grey, though, so they laughed it off, with him not being entirely familiar with Westerosi customs. She danced with his lovely girlfriend who’d traveled all the way from Naath to see him. Her iridescent gown had an almost hypnotic effect, strongly calling to mind the memory of chasing butterflies in the summer sun. Tarly’s date, Gilly, was very short, so their dance was awkward. Gilly seemed sweet, though, and genuinely smitten with Tarly. Good for him. From what Brienne had heard, his high school experience had been no picnic either, and he didn’t have a supportive father to fall back on.

Next, Brienne found herself facing Cersei Lannister. She faltered for a moment, but knew she had little choice but to ask her for a dance.

“Jaime speaks of you often,” Cersei said. She positioned herself much closer than the other women had done, her mouth near enough to Brienne’s ear that she could feel her warm breath. She had Jaime’s eyes almost exactly. If she focused on the eyes, Brienne could almost pretend that she was dancing with him. A shorter, much quieter version of him.

“You as well. I can tell he misses his family very much.”

Her partner lied, and gracelessly, Cersei concluded. Jaime almost never called home and had said he would be too busy for a summer visit. He’d been angry at the news of her engagement, but that didn’t give him any right to cut her out of his life. She examined Jaime’s friend, Tarth, more closely. _He’s missing two elements of tall, dark, and handsome, but with those eyes he’s actually kissable. Let’s see how Jaime feels about his boon companion making out with his sister._

Brienne was lost in her daydream about Jaime when she felt Cersei’s plumb lips first brush hers, then lock on harder. She opened her eyes wide in surprise, and the fantasy was broken. _NOPE NOPE NOPE. Too much and yet not enough like Jaime._ Brienne pulled back, feeling her face starting to burn. The second the song finished, she excused herself for the bathroom.

Cersei went back to Jaime who didn’t even attempt to disguise his snickering. So that gambit had failed; one battle was not the war. She rolled her eyes. “Mind your anus brother; that is the gayest man I’ve ever met.”

Jaime thought the gay part was likely, but he enjoyed teasing Cersei. “Maybe you’re just not his type.”

“That’s what I’m saying. I’ve gotten Renly Baratheon hard. Tarth is The. Very. Gayest.”

 

Brienne gulped down a glass of punch after her dance with Cersei, hoping to feel an alcoholic burn. No one had spiked the bowl, however, _(WTF, Greyjoy?)_ so she was left with only a cloying, fruity aftertaste. That had been far more unsettling than it should have been. There couldn’t have been any honest attraction on Cersei’s part – Brienne knew she didn’t make a handsome man – but she’d been willing to fake it for whatever reason. Seeing those emerald eyes identical to Jaime’s sparkling with desire had reignited fantasies she thought she had extinguished.

“I think my sister is trying to steal your date,” Tyrell said from behind Brienne’s shoulder. He indicated the two girls in close conversation across the crowded ballroom.

“Oh well, they’re two sixteen year old girls from high noble houses. I’m sure they have a lot in common.”

Loras noted the lack of jealousy. Check. Margaery was doing her part. Check. Time for phase two.

“You might want to take a moment to get a breath of fresh air. You’re looking a little flushed.”

Brienne knew that was surely true. She could feel sweat running down her back. For absolutely the first time in her life, she wished she was wearing a gown. The heavy dress uniform covered her from neck to toe and didn’t breathe at all.

She stepped out onto the balcony, closing the door behind her to avoid letting the brisk winter air into the ballroom. A few deep breaths steadied her. This was going fine, actually. She’d made well more than an appearance, and danced with several ladies. Her date seemed to be having a good time, both with her and while mingling. No bad reports would get back to Commandant Stark. She turned to re-enter, but saw the door already opening. Wild stepped out onto the balcony with her.

“Bit overwhelmin’ in there, eh?”

“A bit. Beautiful, though. I’m having more fun than I thought I would.”

“Yeah, ‘s nice. I, uh, saw yeh step out. Thought maybe,” Tormund forced himself to look into Brien’s eyes. He’d wrestled bears and felt less fear than this. “Thought I’d ask yeh to dance.”

Brienne barely stopped her jaw from dropping. _He likes me. Well, he likes Brien. I had no idea. Too bad I’m not really…but, it’s just a dance._ “Well…sure. Out here?”

“Has to be, dunnit?” Tormund took Brien’s offered hand, feeling an elated grin break across his face. He wound his arm around Brien’s back and tried to match his steps to the music. Loras only taught him one dance, all the while snarling that if he crippled him, he’d hear from his father.

They danced to three songs, repeating the same steps over and over. At the end, Tormund chanced a kiss, finding Brien’s rough, chapped lips so different from a woman’s but still delightful.

_You are not actually his type,_ Brienne had to keep reminding herself. It was so nice to feel desired, though. She swayed in his arms, just for a little while deciding to ignore all the reasons this couldn’t possibly work.

 

“She doesn’t want to do it, Bolton. Give her her coat back.”

“You need to hold your tongue, Greyjoy, or I will.” Bolton’s voice dropped to a growl. “Now get ready to run, girls. Stay hidden for a hour, and you win. Get caught and you pay the price.”

“You better do it,” Greyjoy whimpered. “You don’t want to make him mad.”

Brienne and Tormund broke out of their embrace. They exchanged ‘did you hear what I just heard’ glances.

“You should probably tell Commandant Stark that I’m about to commit a major assault on Ramsay Bolton,” Brienne said.

“Yeah, I’ll do tha’. Right after I finish helpin’.”

Brienne and Tormund sprinted through the ballroom and down the stairs. The commotion turned some heads, but only Loras followed. He feared he had a pretty good idea what Tormund had done to provoke that reaction. How many times had he told him…

They burst out the door to take in a bizarre scene. Two young women shivered in their thin dresses, makeup smeared with tears and strange rabbit-ear headpieces in their hair. Greyjoy looked like he barely knew where he was. He cringed, eyes wide with terror. Bolton stood, defiant at first, but wilting as he took in the strength of the opposition.

“The ladies look cold,” Brienne said. She nodded at Loras. “Why don’t you escort them inside, Tyrell? You may not want to witness this next bit.”

“I will. But I think I saw seven or eight fellows upstairs who could use some fresh air. We’ll be right down.”

Brienne and Tormund remained to square off against Bolton. As his prey left, he seemed to go out of his mind with rage, cords in his neck standing out and his hands hooking into claws. Brienne supposed she’d face severe discipline for this, but her self-control had slipped too far to back down now. From the look of Tormund’s wild grin, he felt the same.

Bolton’s self-preservation instincts kicked in. He couldn’t take both of them without using his knife, and if he killed a fellow cadet, his career and life as a Bolton would be over. He turned on his heel and started to walk away. “C’mon, Greyjoy,” he called, like Theon was his dog.

“Don’t. Theon, don’t.” Brienne pleaded.

Theon took a step toward Bolton in automatic obedience.

“Those girls didn’t want any part of it, and he didn’t care. He’s not a good guy, Theon. He’s only going to get worse.” Brienne heard her voice come out pitched too high, practically shrill in desperation. Theon didn’t seem to notice. He roused from his stupor and shuffled back to his friends.

Bolton pinned each face with a murderous glare. He then stalked off toward the dorms, alone.

 


	4. War Games

End of the academic year war games were a Westerosi Military Academy tradition. Cadets honed their physical and military skills during a month-long boot camp, then put them to practical use in a large-scale capture the flag battle among five teams of 100 soldiers each. Points toward class rank were awarded the longer a cadet lasted, with all-important bragging rights going to the leaders of the winning team.

The commanders of the school met to select leaders and seconds in command for the teams. Four of the five slots were filled by evaluations on leadership exams, with one being held open for the best commoner in a rare effort to provide some leadership experience to non-nobles. Company E was always the commoner’s army. It hadn’t won the games in years, but this was the first time its commander would have gained a slot even without the accommodation.

“By their scores, the captains will be: Lannister, Stark, Baratheon, Bolton, and Grey. If we approve their requests for seconds we’d have: Lannister & Tarth, Baratheon & Tyrell, Stark & Tarly, and Bolton & Greyjoy, with Grey & Wild for the commoners. Does that sound acceptable?” Commandant Stark asked.

“No, Sir,” Deputy Chief Tarly said, “Greyjoy filed a petition not to be grouped with Bolton at all, much less under his direct command. We can put my son with Bolton, and have Greyjoy be under Stark.”

Deputy Chief Bolton threw down his pen in a show of impatience. “It’s all bollocks, you know. If you ask me, I’d say Greyjoy is acting like a woman scorned. He’s throwing these wild accusations around because Ramsay spurned his advances.”

“They were fairly serious charges,” Stark replied, paging through Greyjoy's file. His original complaint alleged physical and emotional abuse and petitioned for a mental health leave of absence. The board of inquiry had delayed ruling on the matter until the end of term, when it merely mandated separating the young men and denied Greyjoy any time off for therapy. Stark understood their reasoning – lack of physical evidence – but he didn’t agree that Greyjoy had invented the entire ordeal.

“Fine, keep them separated. I don’t care. I dare say Tarly is a better second anyway,” Bolton said to flatter the elder Tarly. He hadn’t asked Ramsay about the truth of the matter with Greyjoy, but he had paid their dates from the Winter Gala a substantial amount not to press charges. His bastard was rapidly becoming more trouble than he was worth. He’d not spend any more social capital on him.

“Good; it’s settled then,” said Stark. “May the best men win.”

 

Brienne had known all along that the war games would be the toughest challenge for keeping her secret. She’s not have any privacy, not even showers or bathrooms. Worse, she’d been on a regular monthly schedule for her estrogen inhibitors, but Dr. Qyburn wasn’t one of the doctors assigned to the medical tent. By the end of boot camp, she already noticed sore breasts and skin changes, and she still had two more weeks to go.

Jaime counted himself lucky that Tarth’s shyness had kept him from scoring well enough on the leadership tests to merit an army of his own. It was better this way; they made a wonderful team. They saw situations similarly enough that long-winded explanations were unnecessary, however they could see different potential dangers. Tarth kept Lannister from marching impulsively into ambushes, and Lannister kept Tarth from falling for subterfuge. Jaime thought their synergy reminiscent of the bond he had with Cersei, but since they weren’t as alike, they would shore up each other’s weaknesses rather than exaggerate them.

Their army drew a good position on the map, with a stream nearby for fresh water and a hill for the lookouts to better monitor their surroundings. Within the first few days, they’d seen Baratheon/Tyrell scouts, so they knew their army was likely to be the closest. If prior setups were applicable this year, two other companies would be positioned facing each other further down the field. Company E was a wild card; it could be anywhere.

When the Baratheon and Lannister armies finally engaged, their battle was the most fun any of them had all year. Jaime first offered to duel Tyrell for the victory so that the winner’s army would not be depleted for future battles. It was not a ridiculous proposal. Tarth led the fencing class, with Lannister close behind, but Tyrell had proven a natural talent. Though new to fencing, he’d taken to it amazingly well. Jaime privately felt that Loras had picked up the sport more quickly than even himself. Baratheon refused, however, so they had to break out their firearms.

The munitions shot paintballs, with the paint color-coded to identify its army. Limb shots counted as incapacitation, but would heal if the injured solider was on the winning side of the battle. Torso or head shots were considered fatalities. The dead and incapacitated from the losing side of the battle reported to the casualty zone and were out of the game. The school kept a careful tally of which army had inflicted the most casualties, with points for the the surviving soldiers on the winning army.

The Lannister/Tarth and Baratheon/Tyrell armies fought for most of a day. By the end, red and yellow paint splotches colored the landscape, and almost half of each army was ‘dead’. Jaime and Brienne’s tactics proved slightly stronger, and a daring raid into the enemy command tent swiftly resulted in Baratheon and Tyrell’s surrender. They did not take the loss badly, reminding their classmates that they’d now get to eat real food while the so-called victors were stuck with army rations.

 

At the opposite end of the field, Bolton and Tarly struggled to find harmony.

“You heard me. Sit on your craven ass in this tent and draw up guard schedules and battle plans. If anyone asks to see me, tell them I’m scouting, which will be true. What’s the problem?” Ramsay applied camouflage paint to his exposed flesh. This fat fuck couldn’t follow orders to save his life. Why couldn’t he have his pet back? He didn’t have time to train another right now. Tarly’s discipline would have to wait until after the mission, though.

“Why won’t you tell me where you’re going? I’m your second in command. What am I supposed to do if you don’t come back?”

“Lose, probably. But I’ll have died first, actually doing something. Now, sit down, shut up, and push your papers around.”

Tarly did as his leader ordered, but he’d call his misgivings ‘grave’. Why couldn’t he have ended up with someone who'd let him meaningfully help? He’d known Bolton had a reputation for being a loose cannon, but this was closer to psychopathy.

Bolton snuck out of the camp, past his own troops and into Stark territory. Greyjoy was around here somewhere. He could smell him; his rank fear, the reek of his sweat. There. His instincts never failed him. Greyjoy did not hear him approach. He would never have the keen senses of a true predator.

Bolton clamped a hand over Greyjoy’s mouth and brought his knife to his throat. This was allowed; it counted as a kill. Threatening to do real harm to his classmate was forbidden, of course, but Greyjoy had been well trained and would not realize that. He went away in his mind to a safer place and let Bolton lead him back towards camp.

Bolton pulled his cap down low and put an arm around Greyjoy’s shoulder. Pretending to be in close conversation, he marched Greyjoy straight into Stark’s command tent.

“Who’s that, Greyjoy?” Stark had time to say before Bolton shot him in the chest. The hiss of the paintball gun and the splat of green paint roused Greyjoy from his daze. Bolton shot him in the back of the head before he could yell for help. They were supposed to avoid headshots, but accidents happen. The two recently deceased commanders watched in numb incredulity as Bolton folded up their flag and strolled to the tent flap.

“Remember, you’re dead. No alerting your troops,” Bolton reminded them with a cold smile. Perfect execution. Greyjoy remembered who owned him now. One down; two to go. Gods help anyone who stood between him and Tarth or Wild.

 

Jaime and Brienne stayed up later than they should have reliving some of the highlights of their clash with the Baratheon army. They’d scooted their bedrolls close together so they could talk quietly, then drifted off to sleep during a lull. This is how Brienne woke to Jaime’s bright green eyes looking into hers. For the most part assuming this was a dream, she reached across to caress his finely chiseled features.

“Hey! Morning, Brien!” he said, a little over-brightly.

Brienne snapped the rest of the way awake. Jaime sprang out of his bed roll, still dressed in yesterday’s uniform.

“Be right back,” he said as he headed out to tend to his morning’s piss. Brienne tried to find a way not to die of mortification in the next few minutes.

“I was half asleep. I didn’t know what I was doing,” she said as soon as he returned.

“I know. Don’t worry about it. You’re seeing somebody anyway, right?” Jaime butted his shoulder into Brien’s. He and Wild hadn’t been as sneaky as they’d thought with their little outings.

“Sort of. We’ve had a few…dates, but I’m not really ready.” She and Tormund had gone to the movies and even held hands in the dark, but the guilt had been too much for her. She couldn’t let him fall in love when she had to conceal such a significant (and romantically relevant) secret. It seemed unfair to date him when she would never be able to risk anything more physical than a kiss. Finals and then boot camp had provided good excuses to call for a break.

“Well, if he’s willing to give you the time you need, I think that’s a good mark of character.” Wild seemed like a great guy, especially for a commoner. Not a bad first boyfriend at all. Though…Jaime could kind of understand some reluctance towards the physical on Brien’s part, depending on what Wild had in mind.

 

Bolton returned to his camp only briefly after assassinating Stark and Greyjoy. As ordered, Tarly had kept the army occupied with busy work. The scouts even returned with some useful information. Lannister/Tarth had eliminated Baratheon/Tyrell but greatly weakened their numbers in the process. The scouts had also found a campsite for Grey/Wild, but it appeared to be abandoned. Their entire army seemed to have melted away into the forest. They probably intended to watch as their enemies whittled one another down. A fine strategy. Bolton would focus on Tarth, then. Once he’d been destroyed (and Lannister as well, incidentally) then he could turn to finding Wild.

‘Winners make their own luck,’ Bolton always told himself. Still, finding Tarth all alone after only a few hours of searching did seem more like he must have sold his soul to the Other. Tarth couldn’t be manipulated as easily as Greyjoy, of course. He was too big to be manhandled and hadn’t been trained. However, Bolton could follow Tarth back to his campsite and surveil. He may only need to cut his way into the command tent during the night, if their camp guard positions are as poorly appointed as Stark’s. He had a fitting revenge in mind for Tarth in the process. Accidental maimings happened sometimes during war games.

Tarth stopped walking and dropped his trousers. Bolton almost laughed in surprise. _He’d gone all the way out here just to shit? He must be one of those shy boys who can’t go if there’s anyone around. Why would someone like that choose the military? Wait…what the?_ The luck of the Other favored Bolton again as he became privy to Brienne’s secret. She dressed even more speedily than she’d undressed and jogged back toward camp. No matter. Bolton had found her once; he could do it again. Next time, he’d have a few surprises prepared.

 

Brienne was amazed as the day went on that Jaime really did seem to be over this morning’s awkwardness. They discussed Bolton and Grey’s possible strategies and planned their next day’s assignments. After dinner, they retired to the command tent and talked just like normal. In fact, Jaime seemed to be encouraging her to talk more than usual, watching with a gentle smile.

They’d been chatting amicably, from Jaime's point of view, with Brien finally calming down after accidentally letting himself act gay for a second this morning. Poor Brien. If he’d grown up at court, he’d be over it by now. His desires may mark him as weird on his ghastly rock of an island, but in the city he would have seen that they aren’t even that rare. Brien had made a bit of a pass at him this morning; so what? If he had any idea how many times Renly had tried to convince him to play 'hide the sausage,' he'd have known that Jaime wasn't going to let that get in the way of their friendship.

It was when Brien got a chill that Jaime’s world turned upside down. As the night turned colder, Brien wrapped a blanket over his head like a hooded robe, and suddenly, Brien became a woman. With his hair covered and hunched over so you couldn’t see his shoulders… _that’s a woman. Round cheeks, plumb lips, long eyelashes._ Jaime tried to take stock of any prejudices. He didn’t think it was because he thought of Tarth as gay. Renly didn’t look feminine at all, neither did Loras. Both were smaller than Brien, but Brien was rounder somehow. He (she??) kept talking, telling an amusing story about capsizing a dinghy. _Soft voice. No adam’s apple. Big hands, but with long tapered fingers. Have I ever seen him shave? What the hells?!_

Jaime struggled to keep his mouth shut and his expression neutral. Brien laughed along with his own story, and again, there was something in the way (his? her?) lips curled. A gentleness. _Her eyes are so soft; how did I not see..._ Tarth yawned (unladylike, admittedly) and prepared for bed. Jaime kept watching as…she relaxed into sleep, and he became even more convinced. He tried to imagine her with longer hair and in a dress. That nearly snapped him out of it, but he gazed again on her sleeping face. Not all women wore dresses these days. Hells, she could even still be gay, just the other way. He remembered the dismay on her face when Cersei kissed her and decided, no probably not. Ooh, and if he was right, that was another thing to tease Cersei about.

 

_So how do you ask your best friend if he’s a girl_ , Jaime wondered the next morning. _It’s not something you can just drop into casual conversation. ‘What do you think about doubling up the guard on the eastern quadrant, and by the way menstruation sure sucks, doesn’t it?’ ‘I could use a hot shower about now. Huh, y’know it’s just occurred to me, I’ve never seen your penis.’_

Actually…Tarth was walking off into the woods. If he is really she, then she would need to do her business somewhere other than the common latrine. Jaime followed, sneaking along behind as Tarth walked further and further from the camp.

Brien finally stopped, seeming to have found a satisfactory place. She looked around carefully. Jaime flattened himself against a tree and tried not to breathe.

“Who’s there?” Tarth called.

Jaime was just thinking she had amazing hearing when he heard a low chuckle.

“You came to the same area two days in a row,” said a voice from above them. Jaime scanned the trees and saw Bolton sitting on a branch about ten feet over her head. “Pretty careless. I thought women were supposed to be devious.”

Jaime saw Brien jump and draw her pistol, but she was clearly too rattled to take aim. “How did you know?”

“Doesn’t matter. The question is, what would you do to keep your secret?”

“You got the drop on me. You can kill me fair and square.”

“No, see that’s not enough. You’re no good on your own; I need Lannister and your flag. Sneak me into your command tent and help me ambush Lannister, or everyone knows what you are by nightfall.” Bolton still fully intended to take his revenge out of her hide, but he wasn’t so far gone as to pass up the opportunity to eliminate another army.

Tarth steadied herself, pretending to consider his words, and took her best shot. She missed, but by much less than Bolton had assumed were within her capabilities. Instead of further upsetting her, his demand seemed to have steeled her nerves. The stupid woman couldn't appreciate logic, apparently.

“You’ll regret that.” He started the timer on the paint grenade. He’d modified it by shortening its fuse and adding some shrapnel. With any luck at all, it would disfigure her when it exploded; perhaps even blind, or dare he hope, kill her. He lobbed the grenade at her head.

Jaime had been taking careful aim to snipe Bolton out of his tree. When he saw Bolton start fiddling with a grenade, he dashed forward. With the reflexes that won him inter-kingdom fencing championships, he caught the grenade as it fell straight down. He drew back his arm to throw it into the bushes, and it exploded. Green paint splattered all over him, but was quickly covered by bright red blood.

Bolton leapt from his tree, intending to run away in the confusion. He needed some distance to invent an explanation. Lannister had done him a disservice by becoming injured. He still had leverage over Tarth, though. Yes, that makes sense; she takes responsibility for Lannister’s injury and he doesn’t turn her in. It seemed like a fair trade. Bolton turned to yell the offer to her, but didn’t get his mouth open before she was on top of him. _The cow is quicker than she looks_ , were his last coherent thoughts. Her first punch shattered three teeth and brought him to his knees. There were a lot more to follow.

Blow after blow solidly connected with Bolton. He stopped fighting back, then stopped even trying to protect himself. _You’re going to kill him_ , Brienne’s inner voice remarked, providing information but not expressing an opinion. _You’re certain to get expelled if he dies_ , it noted. The blows continued to fall, all her frustration over watching what he did to Greyjoy and the stress of keeping her secret finally finding expression. _Jaime needs help. Jaime needs help!_ That got her attention. She dropped Bolton, who curled into a ball and released a thick moaning laugh. Jaime had appeared out of nowhere to save her from the grenade. She'd thought it was just paint at first, but Jaime still lay on the ground. Brienne rolled him over, revealing the extent of the damage. Jaime’s right hand was hamburger from the wrist down. Blood pumped out in concert with his heartbeat, and far too much already soaked his clothes and the grass beneath him.

Brienne tore some material from her shirt for a tourniquet. That slowed the alarming blood loss, but Jaime was no more than semi-conscious. He’d not be able to walk to the medical tent. She carefully slung him over her shoulders in a fireman’s carry and started toward the out of game area.

As Brienne traveled through the thickest parts of the forest, her fears started to rise. What if Bolton somehow ambushed her again? She couldn’t fight while carrying Jaime; they’d both be helpless.

“Halt!” a familiar voice called from the tree line. Wild stepped out, pointing a rifle at her chest. He appeared uncomfortable with this turn of events.

“Go ahead,” Brienne told him. Had it only been a few hours ago that winning the game had been her chief concern? Now, she had a critically injured friend, a seriously injured enemy, and a likely expulsion on her agenda.

Wild’s resolve wavered; Brien was too gorgeous to shoot, and something didn’t feel right. Lannister had somehow gotten covered with his own red paint.

“Seriously, go ahead. I’m taking him out of game anyway. Just don’t shoot me in the chest.” Gods, her breasts were sore. On top of everything else, puberty was having another go at her.

“Wait! Is that blood? D’ye need some help?” The reality of the situation finally clicked into place for Wild.

“I’ve got Lannister. But, Bolton’s the one who did this. I left him worse for wear back that way. If you could check on him and make sure he doesn’t follow us, that would be a huge favor.”

"Yeh got it,” Wild said, looking like she was doing him the favor. “Keep goin’ straight or yeh’ll run into more o’ Grey’s men. We’ve got yeh surrounded.” He grinned, still feeling the adrenaline of battle.

Brienne managed to grin back. Grey had played a clever, risky strategy. If they couldn’t win, she was glad it would be him and Wild. She jogged toward the medical tent, praying to the Mother for Jaime. She didn’t spare a prayer for herself; Bolton would end her dreams soon enough.

 


	5. Reckoning

With the border of the game area in sight, Brienne double-timed to the medical tent, Jaime securely bundled over her shoulders. He had stopped responding to her queries, even with grunts, but she could still hear his harsh breath in her ear. _It’s your fault if he doesn’t make it. Your fault. Your fault. Your fault._ The relentless drum of her conscience propelled her faster and faster until she burst into the tent, startling some medics.

“Help! His hand. Too much blood,” she gasped.

They immediately secured Jaime onto a cot, and he was surrounded by medical staff. They started giving him fluids, then blood, then called more doctors to assist. Before long, his area of the tent became so crowded that Brienne was politely but firmly told to wait outside. She took comfort in scattered phrases like ‘strong vitals’ and ‘stable,’ and tried to ignore ‘lost cause.’

From his seat at the high table in the commissary area, Renly saw Tarth outside the medical tent, bent over with whooping sobs. She was trying to quiet herself, but it only led to choked gagging sounds that were hardly more masculine.

He ran over to investigate. “Hey, what’s wrong?” he asked. Tarth usually lacked the histrionics of Stormland natives.

Brienne told him of Lannister’s injury and how he’d gotten it saving her life in the stupid game. “He’s going to lose his hand. I mean, he’s already lost it. It was in pieces!” She broke down again. Her blotchy, red, tear-stained face looked far more like a child’s than a man’s.

“Okay, Tarth, but what’s done is done. You have to pull yourself together. If anyone else sees you going on like this, they’re going to figure it out.”

“Figure it…out?”

Renly cast a significant glance downward. Brienne didn’t think he was looking at her feet. His kind, blue eyes were pinched with concern.

“Oh,” she replied, wiping her face and feeling very small. Of course, men didn’t let anyone see them cry. “When…for how long?” 

He half-shrugged. “I know it was a hard day for you and probably passed in a fog, but I remember your brother’s funeral. I remember his inconsolable little sister who was my age, and his lack of little brothers. He should have been here a couple of years ago. You coming in his place, well, it just made sense.”

“All along?” Brienne was amazed – Renly Baratheon had kept a secret all year?

“Politics is in my blood. It helps to be good with names and faces. And secrets.”

“You should have turned me in. The honor code says you’re culpable as well now.”

“Fuck any honor code that would-”

Renly’s nigh-blasphemous statement was cut off by a commotion from the game area. A brace of medics were carrying someone out on a stretcher. He looked like he’d been run over by a stampede, but Brienne knew her fists were the true culprits. Behind the medics, two upperclass cadet game monitors were marching Wild toward the commanders’ tent.

Brienne ran after the officers. “Wait! Stop!” Wild turned to her, fear and uncertainty written all over his face.

“Stay out of this, plebe,” the ranking officer said.

Brienne could imagine the story they’d concocted, seeing Wild near an injured Bolton. “I’m the one who beat up Bolton, not him. I asked Wild to check on him after it was over, when I was already headed out of game.”

“That the size of it?” the officer asked Wild.

“Aye,” Wild confirmed, gratitude in his eyes. He’d feared, just for a minute, that Brien had set a trap for him as a game strategy. He should have known better. Brien could never betray anyone; he was sure as the sunrise.

Now that the fight was between two nobles rather than a noble and a commoner, the matter suddenly seemed less serious. “We’ll need a statement from you about the incident,” the officer said, but his tone conveyed no urgency or threat.

“I would like to talk to the honor board about that and something else once the games are over,” Brienne said.

“That will be fine,” the officer replied, preparing to leave.

“Don’t forget to write Wild a pass,” Brienne reminded them. “To go back into game. I think they were about to win.”

 

The honor board convened bright and early the Monday after the game’s conclusion. Commandant Stark chaired, with Deputy Chief Tarly and Dean of Students Oberyn Martell also empanelled. Deputy Chief Bolton had been excused since he could not be expected to be impartial with his son as a subject of investigation. (He could have truthfully said that he would be quite unsentimental, but he was happy to let Ramsay sink or swim on his own).

“Cadet Brien Tarth, you have a statement about Ramsay Bolton?” Commandant Stark prompted. He’d studied up on the Bolton lad over the weekend. He was going to wring Karstark’s neck for writing that boy a recommendation. Obviously he was far too troubled to continue attending WMA. Stark could proudly say he’d reached that conclusion even before Tywin Lannister started his campaign of righteous vengeance over his son’s injury.

“About Bolton my statement is brief. I saw he’d injured Lannister and lost my temper. I regret the loss of control and hope that Bolton recovers in due time.”

“Good. Well, I think the matter is settled. The board finds no fault with your actions, Tarth. Just learn your own strength, okay?” Stark could still hear Arya after seeing pictures of Bolton, ‘Damn! That boy’s face is fucked past the point of no return.’

“I have another confession to make, however,” Brienne said. Bolton’s jaw was still wired shut, so she had a chance to say it first. It wouldn’t make a difference, but it felt better to take the matter into her own hands.

 _Oh no, the thing with Wild. Just keep your mouth shut, you big dummy. That’s what NINP is for._ “I see. As you know, the honor board is always willing to provide guidance about ethical dilemmas.”

“Thank you. Not much of a dilemma, though. I’m a woman.”

The board exchanged an uncomfortable silent minute of confusion.

“Do you mean, you feel inside that you are a woman?” Martell asked kindly. “You would perhaps like to change?”

“No, Sir.”

“Good, because you’d make one hell of an ugly woman,” Tarly said bluntly.

The pain and embarrassed flush on Tarth’s face brought Stark out of his seat. _She means it. Oh, by the Old Gods, it's no joke; she means it._

“Nonetheless. I am. In every way. I’m a woman, right now.”

“Would you consent to a medical exam?” Martell asked, still a step behind.

“Yes, whatever you need. But I’m telling you…”

“Right. Why don’t you wait outside, Cadet Tarth. In fact, you should go back to your room. This could take a while,” Stark said.

 

As soon as she'd gone, Tarly opened the discussion, “What’s the conundrum here? If that’s really a she, then _she_ violated the honor code. She lied to everyone all year. Expel her.”

“I might note, she’s number four in a class of 500, with no accommodations for her sex whatsoever,” Martell said. “She would have been number two if she’d let Lannister bleed out and managed to win the games. Actually, now that I think of it, number one.”

“Oh, I suppose we’re going to hear more about Dorne’s insane policies on women in combat,” Tarly remarked sarcastically.

“Unbowed, unbent, unbroken Dorne, you mean? Yes, you might.”

“I’m no sexist. I know women can be cunning, but they can’t be field commanders. No man would follow the orders of a woman,” Tarly said. Stark wondered how harmonious life was in the Tarly household.

“That would seem to be a problem with the soldier’s training, not the leaders.” Martell rebutted.

“Excuse me, Sirs.” Renly Baratheon entered the honor board’s chamber. He shouldn’t be there, but due to his high royal status, no one had acted quickly enough to stop him.

“Cadet Baratheon. We are discussing-”

“Tarth. Yes, I saw her leaving,” he said, feeling that made his point pretty well. He’d suspected she might use this as an opportunity to confess her deception. Tarth had a lot of fine qualities, but subtlety wasn’t one of them. When he’d seen the righteous satisfaction on her face, he’d known he had to act quickly.

Stark wanted to put his head in his hands. He was having a hard time disputing Tarly’s point that Tarth lying at all was grounds for discipline (never mind what she’d been lying about). Now Baratheon was confessing as well – the grandson of the king!

“How long have you been keeping her secret?”

“From the beginning, obviously. You think I don’t know my bannermen? Brienne Tarth, daughter of Lord Selwyn Tarth, younger sister of the late Galladon Tarth…” Renly rattled off her genealogy in a tone that edged close to insolence.

“Thank you,” Stark interrupted. “Does anyone else share in this knowledge?”

“I believe Loras Tyrell and I discussed it a time or two.” They had not, but he’d be sure to bring it up once he got back to the dorms. The more high nobles the honor board would need to discipline, the more likely they would do nothing at all. “Theon Greyjoy surely figured it out; they were in the pool together all year.” Unlikely; Theon was dumb as a post, but he did owe her one and had been conveniently tucked away in intensive therapy since the game’s conclusion. “Most of the Stormlands houses, I’d imagine, really.”

“Thank you for your timely statement, Baratheon,” Stark said. This young man was too clever by half to ever be king. Thank the gods he was the youngest brother.

“I just wanted to make sure all the facts were on the table, Sir.”

 

Brienne did not go back to her dorm after the meeting with the honor board, but rather went to Jaime’s hospital room. Even though he’d been kept heavily sedated, she'd spent most of her time there since she returned from the games. Jaime would wake sometimes, looking lost, afraid, and in pain. He never seemed to remember what had happened. Each time, she had to explain anew that his hand was gone, and watch as horror broke across his face when he realized it was true.

Today, someone else was in his room when she arrived. He seemed to be a technician, carefully measuring every dimension of Jaime’s stump and asking him to move the muscles and tendons in his arm.

“Should I come back later?” Brienne asked.

“Gods, no. Please come in now. Why haven’t you been by to visit me before?”

“Well, I-”

“I’m joking. I know you’ve been here almost every time I’ve opened my eyes.” He turned to the technician. “You’re done, right?”

“I can make a start with what I have. There will be many fittings and adjustments along the way.”

“I will not look forward to it. Now go. My friend has missed my sparkling wit for far too long.”

As the technician left, Jaime faced Brienne with a fond smile. He’d grown a bit of stubble over the weekend; Brienne found it surprisingly appealing. He looked more the charming rogue and less the noble scion of privilege. He was both, of course.

She approached his bedside skittishly, willing to be chased away if he saw fit. “Jaime, I’m so so sorry. It was all my fault. Please don’t hate me.”

“Don’t tell me you’re having regrets about the whole saving my life business.”

“No, I-”

“It wasn’t your fault. It was that nut-job Bolton’s fault. And a little bit mine for following you, rather than just asking you.”

“Why were you following me anyway?”

“I wanted to see your penis.”

“You wanted to _what_?” Of all the responses she might has predicted…

“You’re a girl, aren’t you? I mean, a woman.” He reached his stump forward as if to touch her face, then grimaced in distaste. “Sorry. Can’t even brush my teeth with my left hand yet.”

“I don’t mind.” She ran her fingertips over the bandage gently as passing butterflies. “And, yes. I am.”

“I can’t believe I didn’t see it before last night. Well, not last night. The last night I remember clearly. Am I the single dumbest person in the class?”

“No, I think you were the only one to figure it out on your own. Renly already knew, and Bolton saw me…unclothed.”

“Did Wild see you unclothed?” Jaime didn’t mean for that to slip out; he wasn’t even sure why it did. Must be the painkillers.

“No, of course not.” She blushed like a maid. _Hells, she probably is a maid._

“Let’s keep it that way. But seriously, you didn’t always look like this, did you?” _I mean, she - SHE’S A FUCKING GIRL; IT’S BLOODY OBVIOUS,_ Jaime’s subconscious screamed and kept throwing clues at him. For the most part, they came back to her eyes. No man could ever have such soft, caring, loving, and frankly, stunning eyes.

“I’ve let up on the act a bit since I told the honor board. And I’m two weeks overdue for the shots that suppress my…girly hormones. But mostly, yeah, this is what I always looked like.”

Jaime’s face fell in disappointment. Brienne’s heart had time to sink a little before he said, “You told the honor board? Why would you…” He stopped and answered his own question, “Because you’re you. The most honorable boy in the school. He’s a girl, it turns out, but never mind. Oh Brien, I wish you hadn’t done that. Your name’s not Brien. What’s your name?”

“Brienne.”

“Brienne. Brienne, I can’t make it here. Not without seeing your face.” He reached carefully with his left hand this time, and she leaned forward to meet him half-way.

A harrumph came from the direction of the doorway. Tywin Lannister stood there, observing the sweet scene with displeasure. “Am I to understand you sent the man from Myr Industries away without a full set of measurements?”

“He told me he had enough.”

“You understand this will be a prototype - state of the art, with five different grip positions? You must be meticulous in learning how to use it. I will not tolerate-”

“Can’t you see he’s tired?” Brienne asked. “This is the first day he’s been able to hold a coherent conversation. Give him some time to get used to the idea before you rush him into something he may not even want.”

Tywin’s gaze traveled once up Brienne’s long frame. “Shouldn’t you be packing, Lady Tarth?”

Jaime squeezed her shoulder. “Come back when you hear. We can talk. Both of us will probably need new plans.”

 

Commandant Stark found Tarth in the last place he expected: sitting on a bench outside the administration building, feeding pigeons. This was very much discouraged as it drew in the annoying birds. He supposed she had no fear of demerits at the moment.

“Shall we talk a minute, Tarth?”

She nodded. “I’m ready.”

“You’re rather popular in my family, did you know? Robb and Lannister fought over you, about who got to request you as their second. They drew cards for you. Robb’s still convinced Lannister cheated somehow. And Sansa enjoyed every minute of the Gala.”

“I’m so sorry about Sansa. I didn’t mean any kind of…dishonor or…or to imply-”

“It’s fine, Tarth. You were playing a role. It would have looked more suspicious if you hadn’t found a date.” Ever since the Winter Gala, Sansa had received weekly letters from Margaery Tyrell, always in pastel, perfumed envelopes. Catelyn was at her wit’s end about it, but Ned couldn’t blame Tarth. She’d been the perfect gentleman at the dance.

“I won’t draw this out. The administration has decided to allow you to stay, on a trial basis.”

“I can stay?” Brienne asked.

“You’ll be the tip of a pilot program to see if this can work. All upper class students mentor plebes. You’ll have any incoming women. Just two have shown interest so far, Meera Reed and Alysane Mormont.” Stark also suspected a Sand or two with Martell’s eyes might apply. He shot Tarth a sympathetic glance. “There may be others, and I expect these cadets will need more practical advice than you probably received from your mentor.”

“I can stay?” she repeated, stunned.

“Yes, Tarth. You can stay.” He rested a fatherly hand on her shoulder. She’d be a fourth year by the time Arya arrived. Hopefully between the two of them, they could get his wildest child to graduation.

“We’ll have a lot of details to work out over the summer. Grooming and uniform issues. Conduct between cadets. Physical standards. Bathrooms.” It gave him a headache. Still, it was time. Anyone who thought the corp of cadets was stronger without her in it was not living in the real world.

 

Brienne ran straight to Jaime’s room to tell him the news. She slowed as she approached. He'd said he would need a new plan, too. Was he worried that he'd be discharged due to his injury? That wouldn't be remotely fair. She was already considering potential legal challenges when he greeted her from his bed.

“Congratulations! You'll be the first riflewench in academy history! That's not offensive, is it?”

“It is a little,” she said, but curiosity swallowed her indignation. “How did you know?”

“A Lannister always pays his debts. This is my father’s alma mater, you know. He donates tremendous amounts of money every year. You’d pretty much have to burn down the Tytos Lannister Memorial Library to get expelled after saving my life.”

“But he said-”

“He likes to be the bad guy. ‘It’s better to be feared than loved.’ Needless to say, I’m not going anywhere either. He didn’t want me here, but now it’s a matter of principle. As soon as they tried to kick me out, it’s vital that I stay.”

They were soon in the thick of planning for next year, making sure their class schedules lined up. Brienne convinced Jaime to stay with fencing by noting that fighting with his left hand, he might actually learn something. He knew she was playing to his ego, but sometimes let himself forget. Jaime told her of his father's many demands: that he keep his grades up, work diligently with the prosthetic hand, not get himself expelled over foolishness. Brienne felt he was implying all of this was somehow her responsibility as well.

Jaime only left out his father’s last demand. ‘Don’t get her pregnant, at least not until you graduate.’ Where he'd gotten that idea, Jaime couldn't imagine.

 

**Epilogue**

Year 2, Day 1  
Military History class

“Tormund,” a soft voice said. He felt a gentle hand touch his back. “I'm so sorry. I wasn't allowed to say anything until we'd finalized matters, and it took all summer. I hope you can forgive me.”

It took Tormund a moment to figure out what he was seeing. Brien's extraordinary eyes were set into a face framed by soft blonde hair. He felt an almost physical click in his head when he realized. “Yer a woman!” Tormund cried joyously.

“I told you,” Loras said through gritted teeth.

"I thought ye jus’ meant he took it like you do,” Tormund said, managing to offend everyone listening at once. He didn’t notice, too enraptured by Brienne, who watched him nervously and adjusted her short, blonde hair behind her ears. “Yer a real woman!”

Brienne smiled at Tormund. She’d dreaded having to face him with her deception unveiled. His sweet nature showed through, though. Maybe he'd already moved on. That curly haired plebe from the north had reportedly turned a number of heads.

“It's true. My name is really-”

“Tarth.” Professor Clegane said, his ruined face showing no sympathy. “In this classroom you are Cadet Corporal Tarth, and you will take your seat immediately.” Brienne sat, chastened. Professor Clegane studiously avoided noticing Lannister, who sat behind her, place his remaining hand on her shoulder to provide moral support.

“Hey, you know this means you can stop coming to Rainbow Warriors now,” Loras whispered to Tormumd.

“Well, nae, I wouldn’t do tha'. There are some real grievances what need addressin'. It’s open to e'eryone, right?”

“Yes, of course,” Loras said pouting. Ever since Tormund joined, meetings ran longer and there’d been a lot less goofing around afterwards. They were getting more accomplished, admittedly.

Tormund and Jaime’s eyes met behind Brienne’s back. Tormund's narrowed at seeing Jaime's affectionate gesture. Jaime's grip tightened a little, taking in the possessive glare on Tormund's face. He might have to make a move soon if he didn't want to take Cersei to the Winter Gala again. This could be an interesting year.

 


End file.
